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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24863605">their ancient friendship stung his heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking'>starlightwalking</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Beleriand, Canon Compliant, Ficlet Collection, Gil-galad Son of Plothole, Glorfindel Findision, Grief/Mourning, High King Fingon, Hurt/Comfort, Long Peace | Siege of Angband, M/M, Politics, Post-Nirnaeth Arnoediad, Re-embodied elves, Russingon as the Gil-gaDads, Soul Bond</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:48:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,093</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24863605</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros, with and without Fingon.<br/>A collection of ficlets from tumblr prompts, loosely related to one another. (url: <a href="http://arofili.tumblr.com/">@arofili</a>)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë &amp; Maedhros | Maitimo, Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Glorfindel &amp; Maedhros | Maitimo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Dialogue Prompts</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Russingon + "Was that supposed to hurt?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknownlifeform/gifts">unknownlifeform</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvntari/gifts">elvntari</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallornblossom/gifts">mallornblossom</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingonsradharp/gifts">fingonsradharp</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've organized these in roughly chronological order, though they weren't written as part of one cohesive narrative; for example, in some of these Mae and Finno are married, but in others they aren't. This is a Russingon collection first and foremost, but with an emphasis on Maedhros, since I got more requests for him and everything I write with him turns into Russingon anyway.</p><p>The title is from the published Silm, describing Fingon's motivation in rescuing Maedhros.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Post-rescue hurt/comfort, for unknownlifeform :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="text">
<p></p><div class="tumblr_parent">
<p></p><div><p>“Was that supposed to hurt?”</p><p>The fear in Maitimo’s voice was almost enough to break Findekáno’s heart—almost. He would be strong, he would endure, because Maitimo was <em>here, with him, alive.</em> But it pained him to see his beloved so afraid, so vulnerable.</p><p>“No,” Findekáno lied, but he paused in massaging Maitimo’s shoulders.</p><p>“Then why did you apologize?” Maitimo asked, craning his neck to look up at him. Usually he towered over Findekáno, and Finno would relish being able to look down at him, but now, with Maitimo still bedridden…</p><p>“I just thought I might have pinched too hard,” Findekáno murmured. He placed a kiss on Maitimo’s brow. “I must be overestimating my strength.”</p><p>“You never have before.” Maitimo’s voice was quiet. “Finno, I…I can barely feel your fingers. I know my muscles are knotted all to hell, but I can’t <em>feel</em> it. What if…what if the feeling never comes back?”</p><p>“It will,” Findekáno promised, as much to himself as to his beloved.</p><p>“But what if—” Maitimo took a shaky breath. “What if it doesn’t? What if my legs never regain their strength, what if my left hand is too weak to wield a sword? What kind of king will I be?” He laughed bitterly. “I should let your father rule the Noldor. He has done a better job than I ever could.”</p><p>Findekáno bit his tongue, torn between his love for Maitimo and his love for his father. “It will not come to that,” he insisted. “You will recover, and I will be there every step of the way. I brought you back like this, I—”</p><p>“You did not do this to me, love,” Maitimo murmured. “None of this is your fault.”</p><p>“I cut off your hand.” Findekáno fought to hold back his tears. “That <em>was</em> my fault.”</p><p>“You saved my life. You brought me back to you.” Maitimo lifted his remaining hand, gently pulling one of Findekáno’s braids until his face was in kissing distance. “You are right—I will recover. I must. But, if I do not…I will still have you.”</p></div></div></div><div class="tags">
<p></p></div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Rebloggable on tumblr <a href="https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/619615225018253312/15-russingon-if-you-want-to-ambarto">here</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Maedhros & Fingolfin + "What are you thinking about?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Post-rescue ~*POLITICS*~ for an anon!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="text">
<p></p><div class="tumblr_parent">
<p></p><div><p>“What are you thinking about?” Nolofinwë asked softly.</p><p>Maitimo twitched, just a little. He relaxed as he glanced up at his uncle, seeing the gentleness in his eyes, remembering that he was safe, he wasn’t going to be punished for expressing emotion, he had full control of whether or not he shared his thoughts.</p><p>He breathed deep, releasing a sigh. “What if I don’t tell you?” he challenged softly, needing to test the waters.</p><p>Nolofinwë shrugged. “Then you don’t tell me. It’s your choice, Maitimo. But I do not want to see you suffer under the burden of heavy thoughts. It is a king’s…it is my duty to share that burden.”</p><p>Maitimo’s scarred lips twitched in sardonic amusement. “And if you did not consider yourself king? What then?”</p><p>“Forgive me. It was a poor choice of words.” Nolofinwë glanced away briefly; to Maitimo’s surprise, he seemed genuinely contrite. “Of course I would still hear your thoughts. You are my nephew, and my son’s closest companion, and I care for you.”</p><p>Ah, if only he knew how <em>close</em> Finno was to him, indeed… At the thought of his beloved, Maitimo’s heart lightened. Nolofinwë might as well be his father-in-law; if they had to keep their relationship a secret, for now, he would do his best to be truthful in all other things.</p><p>“It is the kingship,” he admitted. “We have not spoken of it, but I know your people consider you their king. Nay, the High King. And that you agree with their judgement.”</p><p>Nolofinwë was still. “Yes.” Now <em>he</em> was the tense one, and Maitimo repressed a smile. How unusual, to be the one much more at ease!</p><p>“Well—” he took a deep breath; not <em>so</em> much more at ease, after all— “I agree, also.”</p><p>Nolofinwë’s gaze snapped upward, unable to conceal his shock. “What?”</p><p>Maitimo laughed hoarsely. “Look at me,” he said in disgust. “I may be recovering, but I am nowhere near the nér I once was. I am a battered, broken thing; I have been to Angamando and back, and I will never be the king I was supposed to be. I like to think that I would have been a good one, better than my father, certainly, but after the mistake I made in attempting to treat with Moringotto—”</p><p>“Your imprisonment was not your fault—” Nolofinwë began, but Maitimo silenced him with a glare. He would not be king for much longer; he would use this authority while he still could.</p><p>“I am responsible for the deaths of my soldiers, and for throwing away my own life.” Maitimo’s fists clenched. “Not for…everything else. I thought I would die with them, if I thought at all. But I am here, against all odds, because of Findekáno’s bravery and his damn fool heart, and I still have enough sense to recognize that you are the better leader between us.”</p><p>“If you cede the crown, that will not absolve you of leadership,” Nolofinwë warned quietly. “You still have folk to command, your brothers not least among them. I hope you would allow me to rely on you to…temper them.”</p><p>“If they will let me,” Maitimo said bitterly. “If they do not kill me for what I am about to do.”</p><p>“You are so certain, then.”</p><p>“The Noldor need a leader,” he said. “One who will <em>unite</em> us, against Moringotto. One who did not slay Elu Thingol’s kin, and thus may treat with him. One who did not damn half of them to the Ice. That is never going to be a Fëanárion.”</p><p>Nolofinwë pursed his lips. “I would never have thought,” he said at last, “that my brother’s eldest son would be so willing to make his worst fears come true.”</p><p>Maitimo snorted. “Hardly. His worst fears came true the day my mother left him, and he did not even know he feared losing Finwë. He hated you, yes, that I will admit, and feared your usurpation, but believe me, dear uncle, that was <em>far</em> from his worst fear.”</p><p>“I do not know if I should feel insulted or relieved,” Nolofinwë drawled.</p><p>“Both. And be glad he is not here to see me, for if my brothers do not finish the job, he would surely set me aflame. This is a far greater treason than Telvo’s hesitancy, after all.”</p><p>As it always did, the reminder of his youngest brother’s fate brought grief and horror to Nolofinwë’s eyes. Maitimo laid back in his sickbed, grimacing to hide a smile.</p><p>Yes, he would cede the crown, but despite his self-deprecation, he knew his worth as a leader. Nolofinwë would <em>have</em> to depend on him, to keep his brothers in line; compared to them, he was easily the only Fëanárion worth trusting. But he was still a Fëanárion, and no matter the candid blasphemy he spoke of the previous king, he was his father’s son. He was learning now how to best manipulate his uncle, how to leverage Findekáno’s influence in his favor, how to win sympathy for his condition.</p><p>That did not mean he did not love Findekáno, and respect Nolofinwë, and certainly it did not mean that he trusted his brothers, but the Maitimo who knelt to swear fealty to High King Nolofinwë was not the same Maitimo who had once sat at his uncle’s knee in Valinor. He would do nearly anything to ensure victory against Moringotto, not simply for the sake of the Silmarils and the Oath—but for vengeance upon him, and the cold politician he had transformed Maitimo into.</p></div></div></div><div class="tags">
<p></p></div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Rebloggable on tumblr <a href="https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/619948132404428800/12-maedhros-and-fingolfin">here</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. married Russingon fluff</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was just feeling sad and needed some fluff, so I wrote this for myself in the middle of answering prompts :')</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="body text">
<p></p><div class="tumblr_parent"><p>“Russo?”</p><p>“Hm?” Maedhros mumbled, not opening his eyes. It was all too rare he felt this completely <em>safe</em>, and he let himself feel at peace while he still could.</p><p>Fingon’s fingers combed lightly through his hair. He felt a twinge of guilt - he knew how much Fingon had loved to play with his hair, back in Valinor, and he didn’t have much of it left anymore - but Fingon hummed contentedly and sent a little blush of warm comfort through their bond, and Maedhros relaxed.</p><p>“I love you,” Finno murmured. “That’s all.”</p><p>Maedhros sighed, nudging his husband with his head in a wordless answer. He lay on Fingon’s lap as his husband read, utterly comfortable, utterly at peace, at least for the moment. His legs sprawled out across their bed, tangled up with Fingon’s own, and he could feel warm contentment and happiness radiating through both of them in this soft and peaceful moment.</p><p>It couldn’t last forever, but right now they were together and all was well. Maedhros didn’t need to fear nightmares tonight, and his heart was full and open to his husband, and even without the loving words he knew with every fiber of his being, with every beat of his heart, with every brush against his fëa, that Fingon loved him and he loved Fingon.</p></div></div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Rebloggable on tumblr <a href="https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/620709233349066752/russo-hm-maedhros-mumbled-not-opening-his">here</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Russingon + "Just trust me."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Pre-Nirnaeth plotting, for @whatstolkienherepeeps!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Just trust me,” Fingon begged. “Please, Russo. I can do this.”</p><p></p><div class="text">
  <p></p>
  <div class="tumblr_parent">
    <p>Maedhros trembled with the effort of staying still, of not rising to clutch his husband close, of listening instead of reacting in fear. “I <em>do</em> trust you,” he said softly. “I trust you with everything. With anything.”</p>
    <p>Fingon knelt by his husband’s side, wrapping both his hands around Maedhros’ only one. “I know you do,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to say you don’t. I know. I know.”</p>
    <p>“I know you can do this, bring what’s left of our world together,” Maedhros said. Fingon looked up at him. His lips were far too dry; he wanted to kiss them, kiss away his troubles and the cold mountain air. “It’s not that. It’s—I don’t trust <em>myself</em>.”</p>
    <p>Fingon reached up to cup his cheek, brushing at the scar that marred his lip. “Oh, Russo,” he sighed. “Does it help to know that I trust you? That I trust you with my heart, my soul, my kingdom—”</p>
    <p>Maedhros nipped at his finger, and Fingon let out a sound that was not at all kingly. “That’s what worries me,” he rumbled. “I am still bound by the Oath, Finno…I want to give you all you ask of me, and more besides, but I don’t know if I can. I’m afraid to find out. What if—what if all our plans come to ruin because of me? Because of my name?”</p>
    <p>“We can do this,” Fingon insisted. He rose, sliding into Maedhros’ lap and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “I want everyone to know that I trust you. I want them to see what good you are capable of. I am High King of the Ñoldor, improbable as that once seemed, and I am your husband. Trust me when I say: I can do this. But I cannot do it without you.”</p>
    <p>He kissed his husband then, slow and sweet, like they had all the time in the world. Maedhros let him, kissing back with rising passion, until Fingon could think of nothing but him and all thoughts of alliances and war were gone from his mind and the only thing he felt was the burning love and trust that bound their fëar together stronger than any wretched Oath.</p>
  </div>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Rebloggable on tumblr <a href="https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/619891706118144000/number-7-for-the-dialogue-ask-game-russingon-3">here</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Maedhros & Glorfindel + "Tell me I'm wrong."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Aaaaand now we get to the real angst &gt;:)<br/>I go with Glorfindel son of Findis in most of my verses, including this one. Featuring some background Glorthelion.</p><p>For an anon!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Tell me I’m wrong,” Maedhros begged, falling to his knees. “Tell me that—tell me that what I think I saw isn’t true. I’m mad, they all say it, tell me I’m seeing things, <em>please</em>—”</p>
<p></p><div class="text">
<p></p><div class="tumblr_parent"><p>Laurefindil was not fond of Maedhros. They were cousins, technically, though his mother Findis never acknowledged Fëanáro as her brother if she could help it, and after the Kinslayings Laurefindil had sworn never to follow the banner of a Fëanárion again. He went with Turukáno to Ondolindë instead, choosing avoidance as his mother had before him—but then Turukáno, as much as he, too, resented the sons of Fëanáro, came to this Fifth Battle at his brother’s request. The Union of Maedhros it was named, and like him it had brought only ruin.</p><p>He knew about Maedhros and Fingon; everyone did, really. But where once Laurefindil would have been able to dismiss Maedhros’ grief from a distance as selfish, seeing him up close and entirely broken… He imagined the pain he would feel if he lost Ecthelion, and even the thought was enough to tear his heart. No, he did not have it in him to be cruel, even to Maedhros.</p><p>Maedhros shook violently, his bloodstained hands tugging at his hair, and he wept loud and unashamed. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he repeated to anyone who could hear.</p><p>Laurefindil looked around, desperately hoping that <em>anybody</em> else could be the bearer of this news, could be the one to comfort him. But Turukáno—High King now, he realized with some horror—was busy organizing the remaining Ñoldor, and no doubt he only hated Maedhros even more now. Where were the other Fëanárions, his brothers? He caught a glimpse of Makalaurë hurrying to the infirmary, saw the Ambarussat passed out in each other’s arms; the others were nowhere to be found.</p><p>It was up to him, then.</p><p>He knelt by his cousin’s side, reaching out a hand hesitantly. “Maedhros,” he said, remembering to use the Sindarin name he had chosen. He paused, uncertain what to say next—how do you tell someone as broken as this that their lover has died, and all hope with him? Laurefindil mourned Fingon, too, as a cousin and a leader and a symbol of the Valar’s favor.</p><p>“Tell me,” Maedhros whispered, looking up at him through a curtain of blood-red hair. “Laurë…tell me he’s still…”</p><p>“I can’t,” Laurefindil murmured. “I…he is gone, Mait—Maedhros. He’s gone.”</p><p>Maedhros shattered: there was no other word for it. If Laurefindil thought he’d seen him broken before, that was nothing compared to this. He collapsed into Laurefindil’s lap, body wracked with sobs, grabbing at Laurë’s tattered robes.</p><p>“It should have been <em>me</em>,” he cried, “<em>I</em> should have died, we used <em>my</em> name, I deserve it, I deserve all this <em>pain</em> but he <em>doesn’t</em>, he’s too <em>good</em>, he’s—”</p><p>Laurefindil kept his mouth shut, afraid he would agree too harshly. Instead he hesitantly ran a hand through Maedhros’ hair, ignoring the blood and ash from the battle (that, at least, he was used to).</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Maedhros whispered, still shaking. “I know you hate me, Laurë, you shouldn’t be…”</p><p>“He wouldn’t want you to be alone,” Laurefindil said carefully. “I cannot pretend to like you, but I did love him, and he loved you.” He almost added, <em>for good or for ill</em>, but no—that was too much, far too soon.</p><p>Maedhros sobbed. “I don’t…I didn’t deserve him. He should have let me die. I shouldn’t have let <em>him</em>—”</p><p>“It is not your fault,” Laurefindil said, and he found he believed it. Maedhros had done everything in his power to save Fingon, and it still was not enough—but again he thought of Ecthelion and his heart hurt for his cousin. If he had lost his beloved…no, it was not Maedhros’ fault.</p><p>Maedhros wept into his arms until at last an empty-eyed Makalaurë came to fetch him. He nodded to Laurë, grim and grateful, and Laurë nodded back.</p><p>He would never be fond of the sons of Fëanáro, but if this dreadful day had taught him anything, it was that they too suffered under the Marring of Arda and the dreadful hate of Morgoth—perhaps they suffered most of all.</p></div></div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This isn't necessarily how I think this scene went down, but I had the idea and couldn't resist...</p><p>Rebloggable on tumblr <a href="https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/620951905181597696/36-glorfindel-and-maedhros-ship-or-gen">here</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Maglor or Maedhros?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is actually a repost from my Hobbit/LOTR drabble collection; I'm moving my Silm stuff out of that fic. I will also be reposting the comments from those chapters so I can preserve them.</p><p>From a "make me choose" ask game, where elvntari asked me to choose between Maedhros and Maglor, and I picked Maedhros. Also ft. Túrin, because when I wrote this I'd just finished <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/19198774">an essay</a> on the parallels between him and Maedhros...and because Fingon was Lord of Hithlum, which included Dor-lomin, and used to have the dragon-helm before giving it to Hador. Maedhros was the one who gave it to Fingon, and <i>he</i> got it from Azaghal...talk about the Boyfriendhood of the Traveling Dragon-helm!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He saw the elf from far off while wandering Dor-lómin. His heart was heavy with horror and guilt and grief, and he turned his head away from the figure in the distance; he did not want to face another so soon after he had brought down the kingdom of Nargothrond.</p>
<p></p><div class="post_body">
<p></p><div class="orig_answer ask_text">
<p></p><div class=""><p>But the elf saw him. Túrin bowed his head, glad his face was covered by the Dragon-helm. He was perhaps too recognizable as Gorthol; he would remedy this problem as soon as he could, but not now. Now it was too late.</p><p>He turned and waited for the elf’s approach. The elf was red-haired, taller than any elf he had before seen save Thingol. His face was concealed by a scarf, but the skin Túrin could see was heavily scarred. A fearsome light shone from him: this was one of the High Elves. Despite himself, Túrin trembled as the elf approached.</p><p>The elf halted before him, a haunted look in his eyes.</p><p>“You are…a wraith,” he rasped.</p><p>“Nay,” Túrin whispered. He was locked in place, the elf’s piercing gaze rendering him helpless. Were the elf to attack, he would be utterly defenseless.</p><p>“You…you…” The elf sank to his knees, still almost as tall as he, grasping Túrin’s arms. “Finno…” His speech was fast, mumbled through tears, and in the tongue of the High Elves which Túrin did not comprehend. Overwhelmed, Túrin stumbled backwards, but the elf only clutched him firmer.</p><p>“Release me, lord,” Túrin cried pitifully. Oh, to be brought down in this his hour of greatest misery—he could scarce comprehend what was happening to him.</p><p>The elf reached up and removed his helmet, still weeping. As the Dragon-helm fell to the ground, the elf let go of him, staring up into his face with despair.</p><p>“You…are not he,” the elf said through numb lips.</p><p>“I know not who you speak of,” Túrin said, “but I am not he.”</p><p>“You wear his helm,” the elf said.</p><p>“The Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin,” Túrin said bitterly. “What little good it has done for my house and me!”</p><p>The elf stared. “Yes…” he murmured. “Yes…I remember now. He gave it to the Edain. Before…before…”</p><p>“I know not what sorrows you have endured, lord,” Túrin said wretchedly, “but I have had my share of misery. Take the helm, should you want it.”</p><p>The elf rose to his feet slowly, shaking his head. “No,” he said, “no, he wanted you to have it. Your house. Your people. Keep it…and may the High King’s blessing follow you.”</p><p>The elf turned away, vanishing into the mists of Dor-lómin as quickly as he appeared. Túrin’s mind was a haze, and by the time he stumbled into the forests of Brethil he could scarce recall the elf in the fog. But the elf remembered him, and the helm, and the king who had once worn it into battle but did no more.</p></div></div></div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wrote another drabble, ft. Maedhros and Gwindor, that I considered including in this collection, but I decided that worked better on its own. You can read that <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24864313">here</a>.</p><p>Rebloggable on tumblr <a href="https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/185758875733/oooh-choose-between-maglor-or-maedhros">here</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Russingon + "I've missed this."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I couldn't bear to end this on an angsty note, so I wrote this post-reembodiment hurt/comfort to make it better :)<br/>This was also the very last dialogue prompt I completed - hurray!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="body text">
<p></p><div class="tumblr_parent"><p>“I’ve missed this,” Fingon whispered, twining a few strands of Maedhros’ long red hair around his fingers. “I’ve missed <em>you</em>.”</p><p>Maedhros kissed his forehead. His heart was full; he could not think of words in any language that could express what he felt in this moment.</p><p>“You were so brave without me,” Fingon murmured. “My Russo. If I had lost you…”</p><p>Maedhros drew him closer. “I was not,” he rasped. “I was…monstrous, without you.”</p><p>“Don’t say that.” Fingon laid a finger on his lips. “You did all you could. Yes, you broke—but you did everything you could before then. You kept going, without me. In Mandos, after I died…I was so afraid for you, Russo. I remembered how hard it was for you to find light, to find purpose, after Angband…”</p><p>“I found it in you,” Maedhros said. “Without you my life was dark.”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Fingon insisted. “You helped others. You kept your brothers from doing terrible things.”</p><p>“I led them into two further Kinslayings,” Maedhros objected. “I kidnapped children—”</p><p>“And you atoned for that, or you would not be here.” Fingon kissed him. “You <em>are</em> brave, Russo. They called me Valiant, but I do not know how I would have gone on if our places had been reversed.”</p><p>“They should have been,” Maedhros blurted out. He had known that from the moment Fingon died: it should have been him. They were together again, now, and had been for some months, but this was the first time he had dared admit that. “I should have died. It would have been better for us all—”</p><p>Fingon shut him up with another kiss. He straddled Maedhros’ lap, took fistfuls of his hair, long and glorious once more, felt the touch of his beloved’s hands, <em>both</em> of them, on his back.</p><p>“There is no use in such thoughts,” he said firmly when he was certain the only thing Maedhros could think of was him. “It is not what happened. We are free of that now, and together again. I <em>missed</em> you, Russo, more than I thought I could miss anyone—even more than I missed you on the Ice. But I don’t have to miss you anymore. You’re <em>here</em>, with me.”</p><p>“I love you,” Maedhros whispered, tears budding in his eyes. “Finno, I—” He took a deep breath. “I still have a hard time believing I deserve this. But I know that you believe it, and I believe in you.”</p><p>“I want to help you find happiness again,” Fingon murmured. “We managed it in Beleriand. Here, in Valinor, it will be even easier.”</p><p>“You deserve so much joy,” Maedhros said, kissing his nose. “And my fëa sings with yours. I know my return has brought you that. I cannot find fault there.”</p><p>“I want you to have joy for <em>yourself</em>,” Fingon said gently. “Not only for me. But that is a good place to start.”</p><p>“I love you,” Maedhros said again, and Fingon smiled. “I missed you, too.”</p><p>“I know.” Fingon sighed, relishing the wondrous feeling of holding him close, having him back. “I love you, too.”</p></div></div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Rebloggable on tumblr <a href="https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/621139805038919680/last-one-i-had-to-end-with-russingon-there">here</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. song and soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Was feeling depressed last night and I needed some fluff to help me cope. fingonsradharp helped me brainstorm this scenario, and mallornblossom's amazing art helped me get through, so this is for both of them (and myself!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="body text">
<p></p><div class="tumblr_parent"><p>He lay across his husband’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Every <em>thump, thump</em> was another reminder, another reassurance that this was real, that Russandol was really here with him, that there was no losing him again. Russo’s arms were tight about him, his grip firm yet gentle, clinging to him with the same desperate relief Finno felt in his own heart, in his own fëa.</p><p>Their bond was still frayed at the edges, its threads tangling in their eagerness to reacquaint themselves with one another’s spirit, not weaving together with the ease they once had known. It would take time to braid that light and song that made up their souls into the harmony that would bring them the most joy – not <em>again</em>, for their first lives had been full of such pain and grief and creeping horror that the respite they found in their hidden places and passionate moments was not strong enough to balance the weight of their inevitable doom – but for the very first time, with all the wonder and unknown fulfilment it could bring. But though the strings were stitched clumsily, as if picked apart by an anxious child and pulled back into place with trembling hands, they had every tool available with which to work, every note in the scale to sing. They would get it right, eventually; until then, Findekáno marveled that there was <em>more</em> to be discovered in this reforged connection, that the happiness filling his entire being paled in comparison to what lay ahead.</p><p>Russandol’s heartbeat slowed steadily, his breathing growing deeper as he drifted into sleep. Findekáno knew he would follow his husband soon to Irmo’s domain, but for now he basked in the warm glow of love that Russo radiated even unconsciously. His embrace loosened, and Finno snuggled even closer to his beloved, beyond grateful for Russo’s trust and comfort around him. It had been hard won, and he was determined to treasure every moment his husband let it show.</p><p><em>Thump…thump</em>… Findekáno smiled sleepily, wrapping his limbs around his husband’s ridiculously long torso. He never wanted to let Russandol go – and it was only with the reassurance that he never had to, if only in spirit, that he allowed himself to slip into a dream.</p>
<hr/><p>He woke to a slight tugging at his scalp, not insistent enough to forebode physical excitement, but rhythmic and repetitive. The right side of his head was a frizzy mess; the left was tightly braided, with steady hands <em>(hands!) </em>working to finish the job.</p><p>The feeling was soft, soothing, sensual – not arousing, exactly, but so comforting and <em>grounding</em> that Findekáno thought he might burst from all the love within him.</p><p>“Love you,” he mumbled, his eyes half-opening to see the concentrated frown on his husband’s lips turn upward into a smile. Russandol leaned forward to kiss him, as gentle as the movement of his hands, and Findekáno memorized the feel of his husband’s lips against his own.</p><p>“Love you,” Russo echoed. “I dreamed of you. I didn’t want it to end, at first – so many of my dreams, they were of you, and coming back to reality broke me every time. But this time I opened my eyes to see you, feel your weight on my chest, your limbs sprawled all around me…it was the best feeling. I need it always. I need <em>you</em> always.”</p><p>“You have me,” Findekáno promised, and as his husband finished one braid and moved to the next he reached out a thread of gold to Russandol’s copper, strands of their fëar mingling and melding in their minds. He felt his own fingers at work in his hair, felt his own weight on his chest; he felt the relaxation reverberating through him with every gentle pull at his scalp, felt his own body move up and down with each of his breaths. They were one in that moment, united in heart and soul, melting into one another’s bodies as much as they did their spirits.</p><p>It wasn’t perfect; it wasn’t forever. After a moment the sensation faded and Findekáno fell back into himself… but the pattern stayed, in both his hair and his fëa, and he knew with a certainty born of sacrifice, of peace, that it would always remain.</p></div></div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Rebloggable on tumblr <a href="https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/626868847429943296/for-mallornblossom-who-deserves-the-best">here</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. pragma</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>enduring love; everlasting love; love developed over time through commitment and dedication</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A 100-word drabble written for <a href="https://oneringnet.tumblr.com">oneringnet</a>'s August 2020 "Types of Love" event. Accompanied by an edit, which you can see <a href="https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/627807687699202048/oneringnet-types-of-love-event-pragma">here</a> on tumblr.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You are warm beside me in my bed; the sound of your steady breathing reminds me I am safe, I am loved, I am free. You came to me singing: you saved me from the depths of hell, and now you save me from myself.</p><p>When you are gone I feel you with me in my soul; your presence grounds me, but even when you are called away I know you are here with me. I am damned and doomed and don’t deserve you— except you love me, and I adore you, and I trust you to know your heart.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Helcaraxë; Mithrim</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Findekáno's thoughts of Russandol on the Ice, and upon learning of his fate in Angband.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This and the next few chapters are actually snippets from a much longer fic I wrote recently called "<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26299528">the fire of life</a>." That fic is Mairon/Maedhros/Fingon, but there are a couple Russingon-only bits I thought I could post here for those of you not all that interested in the ship with Mairon involved. If that is something that catches your eye, though, I'd love it if you gave that fic a read!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He's forgotten what it feels like to be warm, to be loved. Love is not absent here; it simply isn't important. Duty is what matters, duty and loyalty and perseverance. Love is dangerous—love gets you killed.</p>
<p>It's not love that keeps him clinging to Turukáno, dragging him away from where Elenwë disappears beneath the Ice. It's not love that sees him and Findaráto pressed so tight together it's hard to tell whose hands belong to who, if he can even feel his hands. It's not love that helps him slay the great white bear and skin it.</p>
<p>No, love is none of that.</p>
<p>Love is what he keeps locked in his heart, tightly confined lest it break out and devour him in flames. Love is the burning he feels when he's not careful enough to guard his thoughts and his mind wanders to <em>before</em>, and then inevitably looks to <em>after</em>. Love is the gnawing thing that keeps him moving into endless darkness, endless cold, because love is a string and there is a person attached to it, and Findekáno<em> will not let go.</em></p>
<p>He doesn't know what he'll do when he sees <em>him</em> again. But whatever it is, it will be born of love, and the only other passion to rival it: hatred, which never before could Findekáno have imagined applying to Russandol.</p>
<p>But now it does, so hot it could consume him from the inside out—and Findekáno knows that no, their next meeting will not be gentle.</p>
<p>Their next meeting would start and end with blood.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Findekáno trembles, with dread and hope and <em>fury</em>, and he barely thinks as he gathers his few belongings that survived the Ice. A knife, a change of clothes, his sturdiest boots (not that he has another pair any longer), some crumbs of lembas from Indis, saved only for the most dire emergencies, kept hidden away even across the Helcaraxë except when he force-fed some to Turukáno and Itarillë after Elenwë's death. This is madness, he knows, but there is no other way. He <em>must</em> go. There is no choice, not for Russandol.</p>
<p>They hadn't even sent a rescue party for him. Findekáno thinks he might catch aflame like Fëanáro, so wroth is he with Makalaurë. They hadn't even <em>tried</em>.</p>
<p>And it might spell his doom, captive alongside Russandol. But at least then they would be together.</p>
<p>And they <em>will</em>, one way or another, in death or in life, even if it means coming face-to-face with Moringotto. He would face the Void for Russo, even still.</p>
<p>He pauses before he leaves, then straps his harp to his back. He will need music to sustain his fëa, to keep him strong in the darkness of Moringotto's lands. He leaves no note: should he die, all will be lost; should he live, he will face the consequences.</p>
<p>For Russo, he will do anything.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. “And by the way, we have a son”</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Maedhros rides to Hithlum after receiving some shocking news from Fingon.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another snippet from "<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26299528">the fire of life</a>." There is a brief mention of Mae's (at this point, past) relationship with Mairon; it's important to note that in this verse, that was consensual, though Mae carries a lot of guilt about "betraying" Finno.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After Angband and ceding the crown and establishing Himring, Maedhros thought his life would settle into a rhythm. He has duties now, as a lord, even if he surrendered the kingship to Nolofinwë; the North keeps him busy fighting the Enemy, his brothers stir up enough trouble amongst themselves that he never goes a few years without visiting them to solve some quarrel, he even comes to expect Fingon's semi-regular visits that bring him the only joy he truly knows.</p><p>Finno, Kánya, is at once a constant and a surprise: some days Maedhros will arrive home from patrol to find Kánya already open and waiting for him, having arrived all of a sudden in the middle of the night; other times he tells Maedhros he is coming months in advance, so that he may prepare grand feasts and festivals for the Crown Prince. Occasionally, Maedhros will ride for Barad Eithel, when the shadow of Angband grows too menacing. Fingon is the one thing he knows can drive away any wicked thoughts of Mairon's lips and hands and hips. Finno's are better in every way.</p><p>Yes, there is some element of surprise in their rekindled relationship, but Maedhros thinks he's good at anticipating his beloved's antics, at least enough that nothing is truly a shock. It's comforting, to know someone that well, to trust him.</p><p>But he would never in all the ages of Arda have anticipated <em>this</em>.</p><p>He rides for Hithlum as soon as he gets the raven-letter, not even bothering to send a response. He doesn't understand—doesn't know <em>how</em> or <em>why</em>—Finno couldn't, <em>wouldn't</em> have—</p><p>"What do you <em>mean</em>, we have a son?" he cries as soon as he bursts into his lover's rooms, not even having wasted time to greet the King.</p><p>"Shhh!" Fingon hushes, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him away into another hall. "He's <em>sleeping</em>! Do you know how long it took me to get him that way? Babies!"</p><p>"I have six younger brothers, I <em>know</em>," Maedhros says through numb lips. "But I—when I fell for <em>you</em> I thought that meant the end of caring for babies! Finno, you..." He doesn't want to voice his fears. Finno, faithless to him? Perhaps he deserves it, after Mairon, but Finno is surely too good to... And even worse, Finno with an <em>elleth</em>? The very idea would be laughable—except—</p><p>"Technically he's Lalwen's," Fingon says, breezing over Maedhros' worries without needing to ask.</p><p>"Lalwen is married?" he asks, and then: "What <em>happened</em> to her?"</p><p>"She's not married, that's the issue." Finno smirks. "Much like I am not married, actually." He pulls Maedhros into a kiss, so tender yet firm that Maedhros can't believe he'd thought for a moment that his lover could ever betray him.</p><p>"What..." Maedhros says when Finno lets him up for air. "Kánya, I—as much as I would like to let <em>this</em>—" he swats Finno's hand away from his groin, and his lover only laughs— "continue, I need to know what's going on first."</p><p>Finno nods, eyes growing serious. "Lalwen had a child," he says, restating the obvious. "I'm not sure who the father is—I think Atar knows, but he's not telling—but they aren't wed, and if she wants to remain a good diplomat to the Sindar she can't have a child out of wedlock trailing behind her. She took a year's vacation to the coast—well, a more secluded part of the coast, she was at the Falas before—to have the child, and then she delivered him here. She wanted Atar to find her son a good home, but I... Well, when you meet him you'll understand. I took one look and—his fëa latched onto mine, is the only way I can explain it."</p><p>"But you're not married either, and you're the Crown Prince," Maedhros points out. "I don't see how this is any better."</p><p>"I've officially adopted him." Finno beams. "No one needs to think he's my blood son, and I <em>do</em> need an heir—it's perfect!"</p><p><em>Is it?</em> Maedhros wonders, but Fingon looks so <em>happy</em>, and his fëa glows in a new, paternal way. Maedhros can't help but yearn for that, too, even if he can't be Finno's husband any more than Lalwen can be her son's mother.</p><p>"I know you can't stay here to raise him with me," Finno murmurs, pulling him close. "But...I would marry you if I could, Russo. I love you. If I am to be a father, I need you at my side in some way."</p><p>"Of course," he chokes out. He hasn't even met the child yet, doesn't even know his name, and yet—he loves him because he's Finno's. And that makes him Maedhros's, too.</p><p>(Ereinion, they name him, Scion of Kings: of Finwë's daughter and of Fingon and of Maedhros. And if he is the only one who knows the truth, that's fine. He's the only one who needs to, in the end.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>While my headcanons surrounding this iteration of Gil-galad aren't quite the same as hers, and I didn't really intend for the scenes to be so mirrored, ArvenaPeredhel's fic "<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740937">About the Baby</a>" is similar to this scene. Definitely go check that fic out if you liked this snippet!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. uneasy is the head that wears a crown</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The King is dead; long live the King.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>One last snippet from "<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26299528">the fire of life</a>."</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As soon as he reaches his private chambers he throws his crown to the floor, expecting to hear it clatter; it wouldn't break, it was made by <em>Noldor</em>, after all, but he's full of such anger and grief and loneliness that he wishes it <em>would</em>—</p><p>But it doesn't reach the ground. A hand, large and weathered, without a matching pair, catches it and holds it up to the light.</p><p>Fingon whirls around and throws himself at his lover. It's not gentle; he can't be gentle, not now, not after—all <em>this</em>. Not after his father rode to his death (a foolish, pointless death, no matter how brave, and Fingon hates that he would've done the same if he'd thought of it first), not after his brother sent no word to him from his secret kingdom not even to mourn together or swear fealty to his new king, not after Maedhros knelt at his feet and pledged his life in service to the king in that cold, monotone voice Fingon thought he'd never hear directed toward himself—</p><p>His kiss is brief and biting. He pushes Maedhros away from him when he tries to reciprocate, because <em>no</em>, that's not what he <em>wants</em>—but he doesn't know what he <em>does</em> want.</p><p>Maedhros steps back, not losing his balance, not losing his self-control. He grips the crown in his fist, lifts it up to eye level and admires it.</p><p>"Never thought I'd have to hold this again," he rasps.</p><p>"You—" Fingon growls. "This is <em>your</em> fault—<em>you</em> thrust this duty upon me—"</p><p>"No, I passed it to your father," Maedhros says softly. "And the only thing I <em>thrust</em> upon you—"</p><p>Fingon grabs him and drags him down for another kiss, biting until he tastes blood. He doesn't know if it's Maedhros' or his own; he doesn't fucking <em>care</em>.</p><p>"I don't want this," he cries, clinging to Maedhros' robe and sobbing into his chest. "I want my father back, I don't want to be king, I—"</p><p>Maedhros licks his lips, then presses them to Fingon's forehead. "I know, I know," he murmurs. "Kánya, you must be stronger than me. You must do this for our people."</p><p>Fingon trembles as Maedhros wraps his arms around him, holds him gently, holds him close. He can hear the steady beating of Maedhros' heart; he remembers a time he feared it would stop, but it didn't. Maedhros is here, with him, despite everything.</p><p>Maedhros places the crown back on his head, and Fingon flinches.</p><p>"No," he whispers. "Please...not now. I don't want to be your king, not when I don't have to be."</p><p>Maedhros falls to his knees, looks up at him with burning eyes. "But you make such a handsome king," he whispers. "I could worship you all night, your Majesty."</p><p>Valar help him. Fingon shudders, hating how those words affect him so. The crown is heavy on his brow, and he still wants to take it off, shatter it, destroy the reality that his father is dead and he is king—but the distant coldness is gone from Maedhros' voice, replaced by the fire of life, hot desire sparking between them, and he <em>does</em> want that.</p><p>"If you would serve me, take my burden from me," he rumbles, and lifts the crown off his head again, resting it on Maedhros' head. His lover falls still, panic sparking in his eyes, and Fingon leans down for a thorough kiss.</p><p>"I can't," Maedhros gasps. "Finno—not now, I can't, I—"</p><p>Fingon pushes the crown off of him, and it falls to the floor at last. It doesn't clatter, it <em>thuds</em>, and the sound is dark and heavy as his heart.</p><p>"Later, maybe," he whispers, falling to his knees and cradling Maedhros' face in his hands. "But now, let's just—let's just be us." I need <em>you</em>, he wants to say, but doesn't: Maedhros can feel it in his kiss, he knows.</p><p>The crown lies forgotten on the floor that night, and they do the best they can to make themselves forget why it is in their hands in the first place.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. “I won’t leave you again”</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Findekáno has a nightmare. Russo's there to comfort him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This past week or so I've been writing Russingon fic before bed each night to help me fall asleep. That's resulted in some new fics (including <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27039745">this WIP</a>!) but also just some new drabbles, like this one :)</p><p>I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort, especially when the dynamics are reversed...so have some h/c where Finno is the one needing comforting &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Findekáno woke trembling, a breath away from a scream, and he was alone.</p><p>No—<em>no</em>, Russo had been here, he was sure of it—they’d been too tired to do much more than kiss sleepily and fall, still half-dressed, into bed together, but it <em>had </em>been <em>together</em>, unless—</p><p>A movement in the corner. Findekáno snapped upright, reaching for a dagger that wasn’t there—</p><p>“Finno?” came a low, familiar voice, and he couldn’t help himself—he let out a soft cry, and then Russo was there again, his strong arms wrapped around him, fingers running gently through his hair, comforting, solid, <em>there</em>.</p><p>“I thought—” Findekáno gasped between pathetic sobs. “I dreamed—of the Ice, and then you—<em>Russo</em>, I—”</p><p>“I just went to get some water,” his Russandol whispered. “I…can’t sleep much, anymore, I didn’t want to disturb you…”</p><p>“Don’t leave me,” Findekáno begged. “I’d die if you left me, hold me, <em>please</em>…”</p><p>Russandol laid him gently down in bed, giving him a sweet, slow kiss. His silver eyes were tender like Finno hadn’t seen in years, and he shivered, pulling Russo closer.</p><p>“I’m here,” Russo murmured, wrapping himself around Findekáno, arms and legs and that ridiculously long torso of his and all. “I’ll stay, Findekáno, I promise. I’m here, I love you, I won’t leave you again…”</p><p>Finno cried quietly into his shoulder for a few minutes more, and Russo held him through his tears. Slowly, his heart calmed, and he breathed easier, but he kept his face buried in Russo’s chest. He needed him there, real and solid and present.</p><p>With Russo, he was warm and safe and loved, and when he fell asleep again it was to peaceful dreams of them together in a better world.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Rebloggable on tumblr <a href="https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/631972124450570240/findek%C3%A1no-woke-trembling-a-breath-away-from-a">here</a>.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. this perfect life together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prompt from anonymous: "Finno slowly untying his braids while sitting on Mae's pelvis, he glares at him with a mischievous look and Mae leaning back bites his lower lip"</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the last of the ficlets I've been crossposting from tumblr! Hooray! ...expect far less frequent activity from me from now on...</p><p>Anyway - an anon sent me an ask (see the chapter summary) and I turned it into a little ficlet for them :) This could be set at literally any time, so just imagine them having a happy moment whenever you think they need it most!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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      <p>Findekáno’s fingers move slowly but gracefully as they untie his braids. Gold ribbons slip from his dark locks, and he dangles one tauntingly above Russandol’s face. Russo stares at him intently, like there’s nothing in the world more enchanting than Findekáno, and he can’t help the way love and desire bubble up within him. With his husband looking at him like that…he knows what kind of night this will be.</p>
      <p>He lets the end of the ribbon brush against Russandol’s nose, and his husband sneezes lightly. Findekáno tuts and glares at him mischievously, as if he’s done something to earn his disapproval. He shifts in his position seated on Russo’s pelvis, grinding against him, letting him know exactly how interested he is in the nér before him, beneath him.</p>
      <p>Russandol leans back, biting his lower lip. “Finno,” he rasps. “Do you…want something?”</p>
      <p>“Only you, my love,” Findekáno purrs, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. Russandol’s eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly, opening his mouth for Findekáno’s questing tongue. Findekáno loves this, loves him, everything about him. He wants and he <em>has</em>, and that delight and wonder never ceases to bring him joy.</p>
      <p>He frees the last ribbon from his hair and slaps it across his husband’s face lightly. Russo gasps and bites at Findekáno’s lip, and that’s just exactly what he wanted.</p>
      <p>And then Russo is sitting back up, eyes sparking with a playful challenge, and he’s pushing Findekanon down into their bed even as Finno laughs and shakes out his dark mane of hair. Now it’s Russandol who’s on top of him, grinding against him, and oh, life has never been more perfect.</p>
      <p>“Finno,” Russandol growls, lifting up his shirt to touch his skin, and Findekáno lets out a breathy moan, loving the feel of his hands on him, large and roving and possessive.</p>
      <p>“Russo, my Russo,” he hisses, and bites at one pointed ear, and Russo’s shudder passes through them both.</p>
      <p>“You’re wearing far too much, darling,” Finno gasps as his husband mouths hotly at his neck. “Come, now, Russo—”</p>
      <p>“Not yet,” Russandol teases. “You’ll have to earn it first.”</p>
      <p>Findekáno laughs, grasping him with both hands, and shares all the joy in his fëa with his husband, his beloved, his Russo—and feels all of Russandol’s love echoing back, just as bright, just as strong.</p>
      <p>Yes, he thinks dreamily as Russo takes him apart in the sweetest, tenderest way, life is perfect, here in his husband’s arms.</p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Rebloggable on tumblr <a href="https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/633737799249641472/finno-slowly-untying-his-braids-while-sitting-on">here</a>.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'll probably add any future Russingon-related drabbles I write in the future to this collection, so subscribe if you want to see those!</p><p>Thanks for reading, and please comment if you enjoyed!<br/>You can find me on tumblr <a href="http://arofili.tumblr.com/">@arofili</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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